Braided Silk: Future Tales, #2

Chapter One

Hands shaking, Rapunzel Denmark shoved her fingers into the soil and took solace in the rich earth. The garden soothed the last of her frenzied nerves. After her last-ditch effort to appeal, the Mother organization had finally denied her request to become an agent. They hadn’t even sent a letter. She’d heard the results moments ago when she’d received notice from her rep’s administrative assistant—three days after the fifteen minute meeting that had decided her fate.

A shadow moved slowly overhead and cast a silhouette over a row of herbs. She lifted her face in time to catch a small break in smog. One of the myriad of floating islands flew past. A small flash of light blinked but was the only sign of the behemoth other than its dark shape.

The sky went back to unrelenting gray.

Powered through a timer, a row of solar lights flickered on. The lit, overhead track misted clean, unpolluted water and she smiled, licking the moisture from her lips and letting the tension ebb from her shoulders.

She patted the damp soil into place around a rare bean plant. The stalk sprouted bright green despite the normally inhospitable environment here on the surface of the planet. In the sky, where the rich lived in mansions that flew above the smog, plants could grow without such drastic measures, but down here there were few patches of fertile earth.

You don’t care if I was created in a womb or a lab, do you? She asked the beans. Standing, she dusted her hands on her pants and laughed.

If only the Mother organization were as accepting as plants. Shaking her head, she forced herself inside before the irrigation soaked her completely through and she’d have to explain to Monsieur Bovine why. Inside, she left her shoes at the door and went to tidy up. Bovine would stop by soon enough to discuss her latest plant-growth trial. If she looked as pissed off and as frustrated as she felt, he’d think it had to do with the new strain of hardy beans she hoped would prove viable. Then she’d have to explain that she’d gone behind his back and asked for a reconsideration.

That would hurt him.

Vibrations shook the condo—the condo that belonged to Bovine and not her since as a non-born, she had no rights. If anything happened to this place, she’d be back to living in a warehouse. A thump rocked the building and she swayed. Regaining her feet, she ran to the door and reached for the security panel.

The reinforced metal door blew open.

Uniformed men streamed in. Four of them. They wore no identification.

Don’t move, One of the strangers commanded. They were in all black, masks covering faces, mechguns in hand.

The hell? she muttered.

Backpedaling, she skidded on the tile, her heel sliding, and her feet went out from under her. Her hip slammed into the hard floor and she winced. Scrambling, she managed to crawl forward on her belly. The cabinet she needed was built into the wall just ahead of her. She reached for it. Weapons. Alarms. Only a few feet away.

Pain sizzled over her scalp. Her head yanked back and she lurched.

They had her hair. Not surprising since it was so long she nearly tripped on it. Grinding her teeth, she reached over her shoulder and grabbed a handful of her specialized hair. Made of scientifically-enhanced protein filaments, it was completely indestructible. Uncuttable. Unique. The reason for her existence.

A fist slammed her arm followed by a pinch. She fell on her face and her arm dropped, useless. The room swam around her and grew hazy.

Bovine. Don’t let him be hurt like this, please. Whatever these people wanted, they needed to hurry, before her mentor, the man who raised her, got hurt, too. Her legs went numb and she breathed out and in carefully, unsure she could even manage to feed her lungs, her body was so completely unresponsive.

Get her out of here. Unbelievably, the aloof command settled her. Whoever these people were, they’d leave Bovine alone. He was important. Not just to her, but to Mother, to everyone. Nothing could happen to him.

Zel had never had use beyond her hair. Created by the Mother organization, the secret spy arm of the government, the Global Organization of Strategic Equity (GOoSE), Zel trained as an agent, spent her free time experimenting in her garden, and reported in for research on her hair once a month. She’d never been free.

Some agent she’d turned out to be. Taken down without a fuss.

The world whirled around her as she was lifted and carried out the front door. Darkness crept into her vision as she was shoved into a hovercraft sitting outside, plain as day, in the street in a section of the compound where flying was prohibited.

They lifted into the air and for the first time ever, she left the Mother compound without Bovine. Unable to move, incapable of fear as the drugs sent her into near catatonia, she drifted in blindness.

Her creator, Monsieur Bovine, had taken pity on her and had her work as his botanical research assistant, but would he care that she’d been stolen?

Probably.

If not for her, then for the research she provided.

Her hair had been modified in-vitro to contain a special keratin, a protein that created unbreakable fibers. The marketability of such a product might have enormous financial impact. But the experiment had a fatal flaw. The very nature of her hair made it impossible to study and despite the effort put into her creation, no one had fully delved into her hair’s potential.

After a life of being ignored, shunned, put aside by everyone except for her mentor, there could be only one reason she’d been grabbed.

Wake up. The even-toned command came along with a slap on the back of the hand.

Zel flinched.

Hold steady, the female doctor continued. Only doctors spoke that way.

A metal on metal scratching sounded near her ear.

Zel croaked, Can’t cut it.

All creations must speak to me with the formal form of address. She slapped the back of Zel’s hand again. I am Madame Gothel.

Steeling her body, Zel caught her cringe and the wince before they formed.

Forcing her eyes open, she stared at the white-coated doctor leaning over her. Madame Gothel appeared young with sleek, dark hair and smooth features, but the bitterness in the slash of her mouth indicated she was older.

Come in, son, Madame Gothel called over her shoulder. Movement sounded from the other side of a small circular room, but Zel couldn’t seem much beyond the woman blocking her view.

Zel ground her teeth and took stock of her surroundings. She was clothed in a thin hospital gown, her ankles and wrists bound to a small pallet, and a hank of her hair caught in a vice attached to a medi-analysis machine. There was just enough give in the restraints to wiggle but not enough to get free. Just as she tried to form the words to demand her freedom, the doctor made adjustments on her monitor and the bindings fell open. Straining, Zel tried to move her legs, but they were leaden and her arms were sluggish. Hoping the lassitude would wear off, she listened and scanned the room.

The doctor addressed her son and continued to ignore Zel.

About time you got here. This is my latest experiment. My new acquisition is the last piece needed in my research into indestructible prosthetic limb replacements. I’ve had this subject in a medical coma for weeks while I’ve tried unsuccessfully to replicate its hair. I’ve brought it out from under sedation in order for you to question it. Madame Gothel straightened, snapped off her gloves, and yanked Zel’s hair out of the vice. I’ll expect a report in the morning.

Question her? The newcomer drawled smoothly.

Yes. About the hair. If you’d read the findings I’d sent to you, you’d be prepared. If not, access them from this station. Madame Gothel patted the top of the medi-analysis machine, stalked out the door, and snapped it closed behind her.

Weeks? Zel croaked and licked her dry lips.

Let’s make this quick, shall we? No need for us to belabor this or for you to put up a fuss. How can she replicate your hair? The stranger edged closer. The swish of the air and change of the feel of the room told her he neared even though she hadn’t heard him move.

Zel couldn’t contain the flinch this time. Her gaze darted around the room. It was nearly barren. It had the bed, an exercise machine, and a table.

It also held an incredibly attractive man with dark hair that curled at the edges. Glasses that made his eyes seem bright and big. A full, masculine mouth that parted on a huff of frustration. And wide shoulders encased in an expensively spun shirt that clung to him in a way that showed his physique while remaining crisp. He was practically made of money.

Give me something to tell her. You don’t want her to question you instead. Trust me on that. Striding forward, his long legs moving with a quiet grace, he stopped near the head of her bed and raised a brow. What is your name?

He’d said, you and your. Unlike his mother who treated her as an it, a non-human, a piece of trash, he spoke to her as a person.

Swallowing the ache in